Ashwall
by Pivot
Summary: Post-Armada: A mysterious power cut leads to some nasty discoveries. Certain officials must face the possibility of terrorist activity - or at least stop the Minicons from cheering the villains on. Chapter 2 up, and the silliness continues.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This story is serious. Really._

_For those of you who don't know the fic 'Sanctified By Oppresion', wherein this one is set (or some time during the course of it), just think post-war Armada, before Prime's return, and while the Minicons are in state custody, or whatever it's really called…_

_Credit must be given to ckret2, Cobalt, several members of the Padded Cell, and also the Armada MTMTE, for reasons that should be obvious by the time you reach the explanation at the bottom. Also Sideways, because although he is in fact dead…_

_…this remains entirely his fault, and possibly Starscream's. As Retort would say, it always is._

_We have yet to figure out how to blame this on Thrust._

**Ashwall **

**Part One: Politics, Paperwork, and Biscuit Cake**

****

Excerpt from the notes of Makeshift, Emergency Team Minicon

_…And so the war was officially over: the terms of the peace agreement were settled in a summit meeting on Earth. At the head of the newly unified government were a former Autobot, Hot Shot, and a former Decepticon, Demolisher. Despite their mutual dislike of each other, and regardless of their constant disagreements, Cybertron was more or less being restored. Few people thought about Unicron any more, and of those who had known about Sideways, only one or two spared a passing thought to wonder what exactly it was that he had been. Our past enemies were no longer able to trouble us, and so we felt no need to worry about old news._

_In hindsight, I feel that I or my team-mates, at least, should have known better. We did not realise that nobody vanishes entirely without a trace. There's always something left behind…even if it is only the empty shell of a life._

_As it turned out, it's all very well to let the dead rest, but sometimes, just sometimes, they get up and come after you with a stick._

(Makeshift thought for a moment, and then added,)

_And sometimes it is disturbingly easy to get confused between 'alive, 'dead' and 'seeking to be'…_

* * *

It has been said that people aren't very good at defining the continuous, and this is true. It is constantly demonstrated when two or more people are discussing colour:

Person 1: "You see that beige and red tank?"

Person 2: "It's orange and tan."

Person 1: "All right, reddish orange."

Person 3: "What are you talking about? It's orange and brown!"

It gets still worse when people don't really understand what they are talking about:

Person 2: Tan!

Person 3: Beige and orange!

Person 4 (bemusedly): I thought it was green, myself.

Persons 1/2/3: _What?_

Certainly, people find such things hard to deal with: clearly, at one and of the scale there is one thing, and on the other end there is another, but in between it is impossible to decide the precise point where one changes to the other. So far, the best answer one can give when asked what is in the middle is 'something in between'. A better description might be 'something else'.

So there was no specific moment when a few stray lines of code became a coherent pattern, or when they became something more entirely.

There was, however, a moment, just for an instant, when something saw, and heard, and felt for the first time. (What it _felt,_ most of all, was astonishment.)

And then it was gone again, and sank back to the place from whence it had originated, and there was darkness, and confusion, and the feeling of falling, and then nothing at all but for a lingering sense of wistfulness and yearning.

* * *

The daylight withdrew from the streets of Regalix, principal city on the planet of Cybertron, leaving behind it indistinct shadows, until the streetlights came on and brightened to compensate for the fading sun.

In the room where four of the city's smaller inhabitants were idling away the time, as they always did these days, it was six minutes before any of them thought to turn the internal lights on. When he did, they shone on his three companions: a blocky red Minicon with some blue and white trim who was occupied with a vidscreen; a more lanky 'bot with a pale silver shell, who was sitting at a table with yet another datapad, mind obviously lost in his notes; and then there was another, slightly on the edge of the group, a stocky orange red Minicon with black treads on his legs and shoulders, who sat on another side of the table, his chair turned at an angle to the work surface, fiddling with a bulky, oblong shaped piece of equipment in his lap. The one who had turned on the light rested his gaze on this last one a moment; the orange one was an outsider, technically, but like a few others had earned the right, one way or another, to make themselves at home around this team. There was no simple way to describe it; you simply were one of them when you knew you were: and understanding that was half the key to getting there.

Dismissing the thought – it was not a new one for him – he turned back to the window and caught sight of his reflection for a moment; perhaps he should have thought first, before turning on the lights. He did linger for a second to examine the image, half hoping his paint had dulled or something so he could waste time repairing it, just to have something new to do. But no: he was no different, optical visor and faceplate in place, head and arms white, upper legs a dark grey, lower legs and torso deep blue, tyres above his shoulders and each spur still where it should be on his outer leg.

With a slightly annoyed shrug, he raised his head to look significantly beyond the reflection to the outside world. Then, remembering why he couldn't, with a muted curse, he polarised his optics. Instantly the reflections disappeared from his vision and he could see through the window.

Regalix… how many unsolved crimes already sullied the young city's record? How many whispered conversations held the answer to mysteries that lurked in forgotten corners of the planet? How many planted rumours had already taken root and cast the seeds of myths and misinformation into the air of mistrust that hung like a pall over the values of interdependence, truth and friendship on which this city had been founded? How many myths clung to corners and settled around her spires and spread tendrils into as yet unconquered alleyways and side streets, and grew, and fed, and evolved?

Prowl's broody musings were interrupted by the sense of frustration that rose in him as he watched the various transformers going about their business below. Part of him remembered how different it had been on Earth, where traffic slowed as darkness fell and whole populations joined in the ritual of sleep. On Cybertron, however, where the populace did not require sleep as such, the change was not in volume but in individual direction, as shifts changed and time passed, some people heading for personal lodgings, some for recreation areas, others moving off on whatever matters busied them. Others chose now to pick up supplies or search out a cube or two of energon. All of them, however, had one thing in common, as Prowl's inner voice reminded him petulantly: _they_ were free to live as they chose.

What was the use of having experts if you kept them in a luxurious, idle captivity? He wondered sulkily. Out there, his skills might be some use. Out there, he might be able to prove his abilities, to earn the recognition he yearned for. In here, he was, quite simply, bored.

All good things come to an end, he supposed; bad things too, it followed, and the war coming to an end was certainly a good thing. Not that Prowl would have said otherwise, of course. He was surely among the last people to seek senseless violence, and it was a pleasant thought that hundreds of people were not beating each other to death every hour of the day.

On the other hand, it was terribly vexing to spend much of a crisis (and a maddeningly long war surely counted as such) unable to do the job you were built for. Even so, not being the type to bear a grudge, Prowl would have happily forgotten the issue… were it not that the people who had prevented his working before continued to bar him from giving his services now.

To a member of the Minicon Emergency Team, and to Prowl in particular, this was anything but good.

"One of these days, I'm going to get out of here. And then, I'm going to burn this place," the small blue and white robot muttered, looking dismally through the window at the darkening streets below.

"Yeah, and then Seek Destroy will kill you for getting there before him. And half the rest of us. And then I'll have to put it out," snorted Firebot, hitting the pause button on his vidscreen in order to focus better on the imminent argument, a rare and therefore valuable source of entertainment. The red Minicon shook his head. "It's most likely a good thing we're locked up, 'cause if you were out you'd probably be annoying every barkeeper in the city. On the other hand, at least you wouldn't be annoying us. But then, we'd have to be the ones to save your shell for you."

"And once he'd finished locating and assaulting every barkeeper in Regalix, he'd promptly drop dead of energy loss," observed Makeshift without looking up from his notes.

Neither of the quarrelling pair paid any attention to their third's vague contribution, which was fine by him. They were talking nonsense again, he knew, but Makeshift felt obliged to give his professional opinion, for the sake of principles. Prowl drew himself up, looking as haughty as anyone can through a faceplate. "Well, at least I'm not addicted to watching substandard films."

"Nor am I," countered Firebot, "but what else is there to do?"

"Do they always argue like this?" the fourth person in the room quietly asked Makeshift. The silver transformer shrugged.

"Only when they've got nothing better with which to occupy their time."

Iceberg glanced at the others. "About alien entertainment?"

"Only since coming out of stasis to find themselves stuck in a base in a secret war zone with some childish aliens and one of the armies they left to escape from for company."

The orange Minicon returned the focus of his attention to the object in his hands. "Ah, so they're in shock?"

"Either they are or I am. Possibly both." Makeshift's optical band dimmed as he shook his head, the gesture roughly equivalent to a sigh. "I wouldn't mind, but on the trip back from Earth they filled each other's storage lockers, begged most of mine from me, and we still had piles of books and film discs all over our quarters.

"Seriously?" The Adventure Minicon sounded amused.

"Most of the way we couldn't get the door open," the V-22 said gloomily. "In the end we just wedged the door open with one stack and stepped over the rest."

"How many did they bring back, anyway?"

"I'm not sure… I do know Prowl had five hundred and thirty four of those novels…."

Iceberg frowned. "That's pretty exact."

"Yes, I know. He kept counting them very loudly to be sure Firebot hadn't thrown any out of an airlock."

"Well, for all I knew, he might have done," sulked Prowl, alerting Iceberg and Makeshift to the fact that the argument had been dropped in favour of listening to their conversation. Iceberg shook his head.

"Wouldn't it have been simpler just to bring back the whole slotting planet?"

"Probably," Makeshift agreed, "but they couldn't find a lever big enough to move it." Firebot gave a snort of amused agreement; Prowl scowled but said nothing.

"Y'know, we should probably be happy about this. I mean, it's enforced time off, when you think about it." Iceberg chuckled. "There are a lot of people who'd love to be ordered into subsidised retirement."

"Yeah," Prowl agree, "only, the trouble is, we like working."

"No kidding," Iceberg groaned. "You don't want to know what my team mates are like. Between Dune Runner and Ransack…" He shook his head soberly. "People designed to map uncharted planets and explore 'brave new worlds' should not be cooped up in a building of which there are maps up on display _every second corridor_!"

The Minicons in the room observed a moment of silent in tribute to the stupidity of all officials, everywhere.

"Tell me," Prowl said idly, when they were done, "Why are we stuck with this again?"

"Because the Autobots won't let us work on the grounds that it would be 'forced labour' or 'slave driving' or some such nonsense," answered Makeshift.

"Hah!" exclaimed Firebot, shaking his head in disgust. Prowl folded his arms and glared back out of the window. Firebot looked over at his teammate. "Why don't you read another of your books?" he suggested, not unkindly.

"I can't," muttered the gloomy one. Before one of the others could ask, he added, "I've read 'em all."

"All of them?" exclaimed the red Minicon. "You've only had them, what…"

"Three years, give or take a month or four." Prowl's voice was flat and toneless. "You can check it on the computer, if you like."

"Even the one about that organic who- "

"The poison was in the biscuit cake."

"I knew it!" crowed Firebot and then shut up, seeing Makeshift's disapproving glance and taking the hint: now was _not_ the time. His other partner was looking decidedly downcast, so he said, "When are we supposed to be able to make contact with Earth again? You should be able to get some more then. Do you know what the projections are?"

Prowl considered this. "I don't know. You've got the highest security clearance here; why don't you look it up on the WorldNet files?"

"Why not?" Firebot shrugged, turning back to the computer in front of him. As he began to tap various icons on the screen, Makeshift spoke up.

"You could read my discs. Some of the scientific journals are really quite interesting, and I don't think you've seen any of them yet."

Prowl thought about this. "OK," he said, visibly brightening up. "Pass one over."

"Oh, I don't have them here," said Makeshift. "I lent them to Dune Runner. You know," he added, glancing at Iceberg, "…to take his mind off of things a bit."

The Adventure Minicon nodded, privately grateful that his desert loving team mate had had something with which to keep himself busy. "I know where he is." He set his project on the table and hauled himself out of his seat. "I'll give myself a break from this stupid backpack and go and get them now. See you in a minute."

"Thanks!" called Prowl as the orange-red 'bot left. He wandered over to the table and glanced over Makeshift's shoulder for a moment. "So, aren't you bored?"

"Of course not. We've been in stasis for a million years, Prowl. With so many advances in medical and other technologies, there's far too much for me to catch up on for me to be bored."

"Silly me." The car-former prodded the 'backpack' on the table. "Hasn't Iceberg gotten this thing to work yet?"

"No," said Makeshift, looking up at the thing in question. "It would seem that it requires an initial jumpstart beyond the level of the energy allowance currently permitted to us."

"What is it, anyway?"

"A long term storage battery," replied the silver 'bot. "While we were on Earth, Astroscope and his friends discovered a lucrative market for long life batteries. For the last two years they have been taking advantage of the facilities here to develop and refine batteries that actually do last much longer than expected. As I understand it, he and Payload were only too happy to allow a fellow Minicon to make some use of their latest model's prototype."

"Lucky Space Team. At least they get to continue their work in _some_ way," Prowl said, without resentment. "But surely _Iceberg_ wouldn't let a little thing like rules stop hi "

Their companion interrupted him. "Huh, that's odd." Firebot was peering at his vidscreen as though unable to understand what it was telling him.

"And that's never a good sign," grumbled Prowl. "What's it this time?"

"The chronometer on this thing says we're one thousand and ninety five years in the future."

"What?"

"It's probably just a system error," the red Minicon shrugged. "The whole thing's been full of bugs lately. The Autobot and Decepticon databases apparently didn't take too well to being merged."

"Firebot..." Prowl's optical band narrowed slightly in a frown. "That shouldn't have any effect on the chronometers." He looked between his teammates. "Should it?"

"I don't know." Firebot looked thoughtful. "Maybe…"

"Hold on, hold on," interrupted Makeshift. "If the mainframe's chronometers aren't working, how many vital programs is that affecting?" His partners returned his anxious gaze. "Are we talking 'people at risk' here?"

"Could be," said Firebot tersely. He glanced back at the screen, and then stared at it. "It's changed. Now it says we're 12 years and twenty minutes in the past. Oh… now we're 3.1 seconds into the future." The screen flashed and went dark. So did everything else. "Ah."

"Guys," Prowl said slowly, "if the computer that runs the city that runs the planet isn't working, and we don't know why…. That's a bit of a mystery, am I right?"

"It's certainly an emergency." Firebot's partners did not need to see him to know he was nodding and folding his arms where he sat.

"Innocent lives could be endangered…" Makeshift murmured.

"Right then," agreed Firebot. "We all know what we have to do, yes?"

"Yes," the others said at the same time.

"OK." Firebot fell silent. Makeshift waited. After a minute, as so often had happened before, both the search specialist and the team leader turned to him in the darkness.

One said, "Makeshift?"

"Yes?" he responded, as always, and counted the seconds.

"…How are we going to do this?"

_Right on cue._ Makeshift sat and pondered. After a minute or two, he looked up at his friends. "This is what we do…"

* * *

Hendiadys was responsible for organising the many repair and maintenance crews required to keep Regalix running smoothly. He had little to do with the actual construction crews – they operated on the understanding that he merely paid them and let them get on with things – but he made sure that once something was up, it stayed up. (Be it a system or a building or a project.)

Of course, sometimes things like this happened.

He was standing in the lower levels of the base, surrounded by masses of cable and computer that, for the time being at least, formed the core of Regalix's computer systems. He was standing very still, because he knew there was delicate wiring behind him and all around his head, but also because he was staring at the 'bot in front of him. He knew from having seen them before that the 'bot was pale green, but right now the only visible colour was from the pair of feverishly bright optics in front of him, and they were brilliant red.

It seemed a long time ago, now, but Hendiadys had been an Autobot. Unlike much of the population, he had willingly shed his faction symbols and unlike virtually every other transformer, he'd happily dropped any pretence of allegiance to anyone. And he quite liked some of the Decepticons under his management. He often found his own faction's attitudes as tiresome as the other's, and at least most of the Decepticons had the sense to keep working while they complained, or in one or two cases simply hated the world and everything in it to have time or energy left for mere Autobots. Personally, Hendiadys cared nothing for wars or sides, being far too preoccupied with what a person could do, how long they could work, and what wages they'd settle for.

Not that anyone had time to gripe about such trivial things as factions. Not with databases to be merged and the floors falling out and mines all over the place and terraforming equipment to be monitored and fixed every other hour. Nor did Hendiadys have any qualms about pitching in every now and again when it was needed – and neither, it seemed, did anyone else: the secretary had received something of a shock one morning during a particularly busy spell, when he spotted Demolisher helping a construction crew of some sort. He'd promptly gone running to tell Retort that one of Cybertron's two leaders was down on a building site.

Retort, being the Senior Secretary for the government, had said that that was quite all right provided that he, Demolisher, was not in the office reading things again. Hendiadys understood his point. Demolisher was a good leader where getting things done was concerned, which was far from unsuitable now, while the planet needed rebuilding. Once things were stable again, however, it was unlikely he would last. As far as Hendiadys could tell, the government was perfectly capable of adapting to the leadership and management styles of whichever leader stayed, Hot Shot or Demolisher. It just needed to know which one, and fairly soon, too. Hendiadys suspected that Hot Shot was far more likely to hold on to his position.

In the meantime, however, there was work to be done.

"All of them?" he asked.

"Yeah," piped the pale green transformer in front of him. "Every single last freaking computer in the base is down."

"Even the backup system?"

"What backup?"

Hendiadys would have sighed, had he ever heard of the expression. Truth be told, he was rather fond of this particular subordinate. The ex-Decepticon was obedient to authority, fairly intelligent, and did not cause trouble. Unfortunately, said underling was also barely qualified for his job. "Terrorsheen," he explained patiently, "there is supposed to be a backup system in reserve for such emergencies as these."

"…Oh." Terrorsheen fidgeted noisily for a few minutes, trying to think of something to say to his expectant boss. "I'll, uh, I'll just go and find it, then," he said eventually. Shifting to his vehicle mode, one of the spider tanks often found among the Decepticon ranks, he scuttled off down an aisle between the rows of computer equipment. Hendiadys' optics dimmed to the colour of straw as he stared at the floor, wondering when he had ever been this exhausted.

After a while, he eased his way out from the mass of wires, and began picking his way through the room, grateful that although his night vision was far from acute, he could at least see reasonably well in the dark.

He never suspected that he was being watched.

* * *

The lights came back on as suddenly as they had disappeared. Firebot's optics flickered as they readjusted themselves, but the slight disorientation was only momentary. Looking through the nearest window, he saw light flooding the streets as power returned to the city. Regalix was much more impressive by night: the sky looked pitch black, which to his mind was a vast improvement.

The leader of the Emergency Team shrugged it off and strode around the corner. Frightened and surprised Minicons were clustered in twos and threes along the hall, muttering amongst themselves. Some of them turned in his direction as he hesitated. Then he gave them an encouraging smile and a cheerful wave. "Nothing to worry about!" he called, walking on, past them. "Just had a bit of a glitch there. Everything's back now, no problem!"

The presence of an Emergency Minicon reassured the groups, even if they weren't quite sure how he was involved. Someone fell into step with Firebot as he passed. It was Ransack; leader of the Adventure Team and fellow sympathizer as far as the Anti-Being-Stuck-Inside Crusade was concerned.

"What was the glitch? How did you get the power back?" whispered the dark green 'bot with a frown.

Firebot shrugged. "Beats me, but I guess someone found the plug." They reached the next corner, and he caught Ransack's arm. "Hold on a minute."

"What are you doing?" The explorer's visor was bright with interest as the red Minicon leaned forward and peered around the corner, withdrawing hastily before he could be spotted. "You asked me for help, but you didn't say what with."

"Sneaking past Diddlysquat," Firebot said simply.

"Good idea. Why?"

"There's one computer in this block that's cleared to access high security information at the level I'm thinking of doing, and he's supposed to restrict access to it."

"You realise he'd probably let you use it anyway."

"Yes, Ransack, but there's going to be trouble later on, and I'd rather leave him out of it."

"Oh." Ransack paused. "I hate to tell you this, my friend, but couldn't he be held responsible for letting you sneak past him?"

"Not if he's busy dealing with a crisis," Firebot said grimly.

Ransack hesitated, staring at his friend. "What crisis?"

"The crisis that he's going to run into in a minute." Firebot glanced at the other Minicon. "You aren't worried about this, are you?"

"No, of course not. Why would I be worried?"

"Well, he is a twenty-eight foot tank with half a dozen different types of weaponry, and we are four-and-a-half foot robots with a broad experience of pub brawls."

The yellow-visored Minicon thought about this. "Yes?" he said politely.

"Never mind."

"This is one of Makeshift's plans, isn't it?"

"Um… yes."

"I love that boy."

Firebot would have sighed, but had never quite gotten the hang of it. "You did leave Makeshift with Diddlysquat, right?"

"They were talking about newsdisks when I left."

"Good. Then we should just have to wait…."

* * *

Judging from the conversation around the corner that it was his cue, Prowl transformed to his vehicle mode, a human police pursuit car. Reversing back to the end of the side corridor he was in, he shot forward, gaining speed every instant. The Minicon spun around the corner, past an astonished 'bot with a datapad, and neatly flipped himself over at full speed, incidentally embedding himself some way into the wall.

"Prowl?" Diddlysquat looked as though he was either astonished that the search specialist would ever do something so stupid, or furious that someone had actually done so.

"Erk… Primus that hurts," the Minicon groaned. The spider tank was about to start berating him when Makeshift bent over the fallen 'bot.

"Prowl? Are you all right?" he asked gently (and genuinely, even if he already knew the answer).

"Something… hurts like Pit," Prowl gasped.

"Can you transform?"

"I… guess so." The car shifted slightly a few times, and then transformed properly. "Ow!" Makeshift caught Prowl before he fell, and then lowered him to a sitting position, opening a panel on the afflicted Minicon's back.

"What's wrong with him?" Diddlysquat demanded, hovering over them worriedly. For all the trouble they caused him, he still liked the Minicons, and the thought of an accident befalling one of them was not a pleasant one - especially if said accident occurred right under his nose.

"I'm not sure," came the terse reply. "Oh. Oh dear Primus…" The Minicon considered, and prepared himself to demonstrate How To Talk Complete And Utter Gibberish But Make It Sound Like Legitimate Techno-babble.

"What is it?"

Makeshift examined his partner's innards, horror etched on his face. "The mythrill lines have been completely dislocated. He's not getting any chlorophyll to his CPU." The medic looked up at Diddlysquat. "I need to realign them with a Matek brand taze beam or he could die in minutes."

The caretaker shrugged, making a note to find out what 'chlorophyll' was and why you needed it in your CPU. Makeshift, however, was neither a liar nor incompetent, which was more than Diddlysquat could say for a lot of 'bots he'd had to work with. (It was even more than he could honestly say about himself at times.) "Fine. Get going."

The Minicon shook his head incredulously. "Diddlysquat, we do not have that kind of equipment! Not in this block, at any rate."

The caretaker looked panicked. "Can't you just use the tools here?"

"With the grav filaments in that position?" Makeshift demanded angrily. "Do you have any idea how much damage that could cause? Do you know what that would do to the graviolli?"

"No, not really, thanks," muttered the patient, too quietly for the larger transformer to hear him. Makeshift responded with an oblique prod, prompting another strained moan from the search specialist.

The ex-Decepticon shook his head uncertainly and wished Hypotenuse was around right now. "No…"

"He'd go into monkeytronic shock," Makeshift said grimly. "And believe me, neither of us wants to see that happen."

Diddlysquat wondered for the tenth time in as many seconds where exactly Hypotenuse was, and completely failed to notice the pair of Minicons sneaking through a restricted doorway behind him.

* * *

"So, what exactly are you looking for?" Ransack asked.

"Lists of missing persons. Anyone who could have caused the blackout, however they did it."

"But for all you know, it might have been an accident."

Firebot shook his head. "Is that really the point here? Besides, all the anti-viral programs are running, look." He indicated a browser window that had appeared on the screen. "Even the really serious ones. Something must have set them off," declared Firebot, Expert On Programs He'd Barely Noticed Existed.

"Granted," admitted Ransack, "but how do you plan on getting to that kind of information? That sort of thing is usually classified, you know."

"Ransack, have you entirely forgotten my function, or did you just leave your CPU at home today? I'm cleared to view all information and files pertaining to possible rescue missions and so on, just as you are for anything to do with exploration or whatever else it is you do."

The Adventure Minicon ignored his last few words. "I thought those privileges would have been rescinded when we left Cybertron."

"Looks like someone kindly reinstated us when we got back."

"But we aren't working," Ransack objected.

Firebot's optics brightened in a combination of humour and incredulity. "What, are you _complaining_ about this?"

The green one's visor flashed in surprise. "No, I just want to know who is responsible so I can thank them. Are they trying to torment us or do they actually want us to find a way around the rule?"

"Who cares, as long as we do?"

"Good point." They sat in silence for a few seconds, until Ransack spoke up again. "Wait… as long as we do what?"

"Find a way around the rule."

"Oh, that's all right the-"

Firebot interrupted him. "Take a look at this, Ransack."

Ransack looked. And read. And continued looking. "Ah," he said. "Now that _is_ interesting."

* * *

From where he was sitting with his back to Makeshift, Prowl could see through Diddlysquat's legs and down the hallway. He groaned again, just for the effect.

Above him, the caretaker and the medic were discussing their options. Diddlysquat was looking increasingly miserable: Prowl couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

He was getting bored with the play-acting, so the investigator was somewhat relieved to see first Firebot, and then Ransack, slipping out of a room further down the corridor. He waited until both were safely out of sight around the corner, and he judged them to be long gone. Then he sat up straighter, looked from one transformer to the other and said brightly, "I think I'm all right now."

"But you- "

"…Have got to go!" Prowl scrambled to his feet and ran back the way he had originally come, leaving the other two 'bots gaping after him. Makeshift looked back at Diddlysquat, and for a moment he seemed to be about to say something, but instead transformed and flew after his partner.

The caretaker was left standing alone in the corridor, trying to figure out what the Pit had just happened. After a second and a half he came to the only logical conclusion (and, in his experience, the first choice when Minicons were involved).

The yell brought Hypotenuse and Tangent running, the first to see what was going on and the latter to complain about idiot transformers who didn't keep the noise down.

"_PROWL!_"

* * *

The Emergency Team regrouped near the main entrance to the base. Nobody paid them any real attention; even apart from being less than a sixth of the size of anyone else, they were not visibly armed and did not look particularly interesting. Besides, it wasn't as if Minicons didn't occasionally pass through this block.

"So, what have we got?" asked Prowl.

"Missing persons list," said Firebot, handing him a datapad. "And a system report on the error that led to the blackout," he added, giving another one to Makeshift.

" 'Error originated in grid five-one-three-zero'," the medic read. "I take it that we'll begin our search from there?"

"Right," his leader agreed. "But take a look at this." He tapped the datapad Prowl was reading. "Look at number one-six-five."

Prowl glanced at the name. "Laserbeak." The name sunk in and he stared at his partners. Firebot nodded on seeing his shock.

_"Laserbeak," _Makeshift said in surprise. "The little camera-bird _Laserbeak_?"

"Yep," Firebot agreed, "and just look at the details."

Prowl obediently tapped the datapad. His visor brightened still further. "Last located in grid five-two-one-eight. Hey, that's pretty close to where the error- "

"That's what I thought," agreed the red Minicon.

"Oh." Prowl looked disappointed that someone else had noticed the similarity before he had. He consoled himself with the thought that he wouldn't miss a chance next time.

"So we are going to look for Laserbeak first, then?" Makeshift interjected, moving the discussion on a bit, before Prowl could get any more dejected.

"Of course." Firebot did not hold with the idea of preferential treatment, but it wasn't as if they knew anyone else was in danger and therefore deserved to be treated as priority case, and whether or not the location of Laserbeak's disappearance was a coincidence, it was a compelling reason to go after him first. Well, it certainly made sense to Firebot.

"But how are we going to slip out of the base unnoticed?" Makeshift's aura radiated concern. "We are not supposed to be permitted to leave without the correct authorisation, and we can hardly afford to our waste time in going in search of that, surely?"

"Ransack said he could see to it that the guards were distracted. At least enough so that we could get away without anybody noticing."

"Oh." Makeshift forced himself to look calm, although he was tempted to comment on the daring Adventure Minicon's involvement. It wasn't that Ransack was untrustworthy; quite the reverse, in fact: Ransack and his team were among the very few people that both Makeshift and his partners could trust as readily and very nearly as completely as they would one another within their own team. Both teams often worked in the kind of extremely hazardous situations that tended to form close and marked friendships; with the level of trust and interdependence that they often needed, it was almost inevitable that this was so. But where Ransack was otherwise a sensible, practical, down to earth, straight thinking person, when he was bored he had a genius for getting himself into impossible – no, _ridiculous_ situations, usually due to his complete inability, or so it often seemed, to resist a challenge. Fortunately for the sanity of his exasperated team mates, the dark green Minicon also had something of a flair for getting all three of them _out_ of such situations, mostly because his incredible and absolute confidence in their abilities often led them to find a way out even when all hope seemed lost. Makeshift just hoped their luck would hold this time – and that whatever Ransack had in mind this time, his partners would stop him from going too far, or at least keep him from getting himself killed in some ridiculous stunt.

Firebot looked between his team members. "Does anyone have any questions? No? Then let's go!"

"I've got two, actually," said Prowl sourly.

"Well, go on, then," said Firebot cheerfully. "What are they?"

"We've got this quest sorted out and declared our goals and whatnot, and we know, basically, what we're going to do, right?"

"Right!" the red one agreed easily.

"Now could someone close up my back, _please?"_

* * *

Hypotenuse followed the Minicon caretaker in confusion. "OK… why do you want to hunt Prowl down and interrogate him, again?"

"He's up to something," Diddlysquat said grimly. "I've just got to find out what it is."

The blue Minicon did not argue with him. It made sense, of course. Letting Minicons run around, carrying out their own schemes unchecked, was a sure-fire way to wind up with your head welded to a vending machine and the planet set to turn itself into a pen pot within the hour (as he could personally testify). It was just that the Emergency Minicons, of all people, were responsible, levelheaded 'bots; they had never shown any sign of giving trouble before. As a result, Hypotenuse found this aberration especially baffling.

He had to at least try and defend Prowl, both from species loyalty and his solemn duty as Diddlysquat's inner voice personified. "He is probably doing this for a very good reason."

"Yeah, I know. That's what I'm afraid of." The ex Decepticon paused by a doorway to peer into an unlit room.

"Oh."

"He's not in here," said Diddlysquat, stepping back from the doorway. "Let's-" He was cut off by the approach of an unfamiliar robot. The stranger glanced at a datapad in his hand, and then at the blue, yellow and white tank-former.

"Ah, you would be Diddlysquat?"

"Sounds like me, yeah," agreed the other non-Minicon present.

"Looks like the library finally caught up with you on those overdue disks," murmured the Minicon by his foot. Diddlysquat ignored him.

"And you, sir, Hypotenuse?" The smaller 'bot nodded. "Excellent. Now then," said Hendiadys, "if you would be so kind as to come with me, Retort would like to see you immediately."

He turned and walked away. Diddlysquat and Hypotenuse looked from him to each other. "Well, I guess we'd better go and see what the boss wants," shrugged the tank-bot, and followed him.

* * *

One advantage of being the person secretly in control of your planet's government was that you could always be sure of having one of the better offices. And Retort certainly did have one of those. Granted, he had to share it with two subordinates, but since one was his secretary and the other Hendiadys, who was usually out somewhere supervising the many public projects that came under his jurisdiction, Retort counted himself lucky. Partially this was because most of the room was essentially his, but also because this was indeed only a temporary measure, and he knew that as soon as sufficient buildings were completed, he would have an office to himself.

He rather liked this one, though. The room was large enough to comfortably accommodate all three of its occupants, and the outer wall was mostly windows, offering a somewhat pleasing, if at times distracting, view of the city. Sometimes, when he was alone in the office, like now, he simply stood and watched it, remembering when most of it had been wasteland and the rest in ruins.

He was doing that when Hendiadys walked through the door with the two people he had been sent to fetch. "Ah, Diddlysquat, come in. And how are your charges getting on these days?"

"I wouldn't say they're progressing," said Hypotenuse as the tank-former attempted to translate this. "More like 'sinking into a catatonic state of apathy and despair'."

Retort looked amused as he seated himself behind his desk. "Is it that bad?" Diddlysquat eyed him, trying to size him up. The secretary was as tall as he was, if not as sturdy, his shell coloured a cheerful red, in keeping with the upbeat tone and attitude the government was taking. Diddlysquat doubted that his transform was a military vehicle, but something about his name and manner made the tank question that judgement.

Hypotenuse was happily ignorant of his partner's mistrust, but even more cynical about anything involving the government. "You know when people say they'll die of boredom? Well, leave it a few weeks and I think we may begin to see the first ever cases of it as they're being recorded in the medical annals."

"I see. And you are…" Retort checked the datapad with his notes on it, "…Hypotenuse. One third of the Minicon supercomputer Syntax."

"It's not all that super, but yeah, I'm its common sense."

Feeling that all of the talking was getting them nowhere, Diddlysquat decided to take the blunt approach. "So, what did you want us for?"

"Well, there is a small problem that has been brought to our attention. No doubt you recall the power cut earlier?"

"Duh," said Diddlysquat and Hypotenuse together.

"Yes, well… our investigations are continuing, of course, but the team to whom we have given the task will require some leads to follow up on."

"Yeah, so?" Diddlysquat considered revising his initial judgement of his 'boss': sure, he'd never even met the guy before, but he wasn't exactly being impressed by this encounter.

"So," repeated Retort, looking pained, "we need to find some leads for them, naturally."

Diddlysquat frowned. "But isn't finding the leads their job?"

Retort and Hendiadys chuckled at that. "Oh, no, of course not! We can't have public investigation teams running around digging up their own facts willy nilly!"

Diddlysquat looked confused. "We can't?" Beside him, Hypotenuse nodded his agreement to the question, wearing a puzzled frown.

"No!" exclaimed Retort. "Who knows what they'd find!"

"But… aren't they supposed to uncover the truth?"

"_A _truth," corrected the black one.

At that, the tank-bot gave up trying to work his way through their logic. "Look, you're the politicians here, OK? Not me! So shut up and talk sense!" The two officials nodded slowly. "Now explain this to me plain and simple, or else find someone else to blether on at. Got it?"

"Of course," said Retort, looking amused. "In short, we dare not let the investigators look wherever they will, in case they turn up something embarrassing that we were supposed to know about but did not. So we need someone to go and find out the truth, then give us the facts so that we can decide which ones to give to the investigation team."

"Why don't you just be honest? Take the risk and the blame too, if you deserve it. That's what the Decepticons used to do," he added proudly. _Mostly 'cause they'd probably have been found out anyway, but there's no way I'll tell **him** that._

"Yes, I know we did, but it is more complicated than that," said Retort irritably.

"Right." Diddlysquat gave a snort of scepticism as he sat back and folded his arms, trying to hide his surprise. "How?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How is it more complicated?" repeated the warden.

"Well, for one thing, there is already one aspect of the situation that we cannot at any chance make the general public aware of."

"What's that?"

"The involvement of a trio of escapees belonging to a group recently liberated from their oppressors and whose absence from the area to which they were restricted could prove not only extremely embarrassing to the government but also extremely dangerous, and so whose retrieval and return to this area and their place of residence is of the utmost importance and high priority to those concerned with the welfare of the planet: to whit, our humble selves," Retort said.

For a few moments Diddlysquat said nothing; just stared at the administrator. Then, very slowly, he leaned down towards Hypotenuse and muttered, "What did he say?"

"We've lost three of the Minicons," said the smaller 'bot.

"_What?_ Who?"

"The Emergency Team," Retort informed him. "The base sensors record them as having exited the scanner range an hour ago."

"_Then why wasn't I told about it_?" shouted Diddlysquat. "An alert is supposed to be sounded if even _one _Minicon leaves! How did _three_ get past?"

"Diddlysquat, if the alarms went off every time the sensors couldn't pick up a Minicon, we'd have alarms going off every hour of the day," Retort sighed. "Think about it. At least two Minicons have the ability to cloak themselves from sensors, and with the system turning up errors all the time; it might fail to count one. It was felt that the safest option was to have an error margin of three."

"So now they're out there. Great. Who's going to get them back?"

"You are, of course."

"…Oh."

"Hypotenuse is going to handle things while you are gone, and warn the other Minicons not to cloak until you return." Retort gave him a faint smile. "Find Firebot and his team, find out what or who caused the system failure this morning, return as soon as possible to report to me, and keep your job."

"Great. So you've just sent me on a life or death mission to save the planet?"

"Well… you'll be saving the government… which is, of course, essentially the same thing, so yes, yes I have."

"Wonderful. Anything else you want?"

"Well…" Retort glanced back at his notes. "There is something here about overdue library datapads…" He looked up in time to see the door close behind Diddlysquat, Hypotenuse close behind. "…I suppose we can always deal with it at a more opportune date, of course…"

Outside, Hypotenuse looked up at Diddlysquat. "Well, that went well."

Diddlysquat held back from giving in to his urge to hit something. "Slaggit, I _knew_ Prowl was up to something!"

"Looks like Makeshift and Firebot were in on it, too. I wonder why they decided to make a break for it now?"

"I don't know, but when I find them…" the tank-former trailed off, too angry to come up with a rational threat. "I didn't know Retort was a Decepticon," he said instead.

"Neither did I. Of course, given that, it makes you wonder how he got the job of Senior Secretary."

"Huh," Diddlysquat snorted. "Look at our leaders. One's working too hard to notice much and the other's a rookie who wouldn't know about anything unless you hit him over the head with it." He thought about Hot Shot. "Maybe not even then," he amended.

"Well, he does spend all his time having fun," Hypotenuse said dryly. "And it is a new Golden Age of Peace and Prosperity and we should all be Joyful and Looking To The Future, Taking A Positive View and Thinking Good Thoughts, don't you know?"

Diddlysquat growled. "I'll give them good thoughts…"

* * *

In a mostly empty corridor several levels below them, there was an awakening. The thing that had stirred twitched and flicked a stiff wing as it examined itself. Then it tilted a wary sensor upwards and took a quick look around itself, letting out a few beeps of confusion.

_What is going on here?_ It thought, taken by surprise. _How did I get here? When did I get here? For that matter, where is 'here'?_

There was a brief moment of unsteadiness as the life form in the hallway tried to move forward, only to find it being held back from behind. Craning its head back over a wing, it quickly discovered why: there was a cable plugged into the port on its right flank.

The creature tried to eject the cable in the usual manner, only to discover that it couldn't access the port in which the cable was plugged: the port would not respond to the creature, and equally the creature couldn't feel it. It was difficult to get off: in the end the creature simply pinned the cable to the floor with one foot while it hooked its wing under the cable and tugged it upward. It took nearly a quarter of an hour to get it off of the creature, but at last the cable came loose and the creature was free.

It staggered as damage warnings and reports flashed in its vision. The circuitry around the port was completely burnt out, which explained why the creature had had no access to it, as well as the lack of sensory input from that area. The creature paused, and looked back at the cable, its gaze travelling along the full length of the object until it disappeared from visual range.

Then there came realisation, and with it, fear. Whatever it was the cable had led to, it was something that someone had wanted the creature to be connected to. Linked with, even.

Then memory, made crueller by understanding, called to its mind another link, another time, another reawakening…

The small one turned away from the cable, and fled.

* * *

In the office, Retort finished giving Hendiadys his instructions. "Just see to it that they succeed in slipping away unnoticed."

"Yes, Retort."

As the other 'bot stepped out of the door, Retort glanced down at the foot of his desk. "Well?"

The orange Minicon leaning against it shrugged up at him. "My gestalt-mate is as eager to band together with fellow minions against his superiors as he always was. I was pleasantly surprised that he did not turn into a good little sidekick in doing so, but otherwise, he's nothing new to me."

"He seemed quiet enough beside Diddlysquat," Retort pointed out. The other transformer looked disgusted.

"Just because he let the tank ask all of the real questions doesn't mean anything. Hypotenuse was watching for your answers. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew I was there the whole time."

"I see." Retort thought for a few minutes, frowning over something; the Minicon wondered without much interest what was troubling him so much. Eventually the larger 'bot spoke. "Do you think they will _do_, Tangent?"

One third of Syntax looked back at him.

"I suggested them, didn'tI?" snapped Tangent haughtily.

* * *

"So… we have a cable."

"Pretty much."

"…Think we can get Sky on it?"

"What?"

"Fine. Do we know where it leads?"

"Of course we don't. That's why we're going to look."

Prowl's visor flashed. "Oh." The Emergency Minicons had managed to find their way down to the grid from whence the system error had originated. They had even managed to find the medium through which, they supposed, it had entered into the system in the first place. This had not, however, resulted in their discovery of an obvious culprit. Nor were they moving. And Prowl was tired of standing in pitch darkness with wires all around him. "How come the place is still dark? The power's back again, isn't it?"

"This section of the database appears to have been sealed off," Makeshift explained. "Very sensible, but it doesn't help us."

"No kidding." Prowl looked around again. The darkness itself did not bother him: he worked in it often enough, at night or in enclosed spaces or horrendous weather. Well, he _had_ worked in it…

And would do so again, he promised himself. Where else would his investigating skills have the chance to shine as well? Besides, you couldn't have a search and rescue team that stayed indoors in bad weather. That would be almost as bad as one that sought shelter in the middle of a disaster. Not that it was forbidden to take cover or anything, just that the Emergency Team believed very firmly in always taking care of number one first. It was just a mater of priorities. Of course, as far as Firebot, Makeshift and Prowl were concerned, number one was always the civilian you were trying to save.

He looked over, hearing muffled curses and seeing Makeshift doing something with the computer cables next to him. "What's the hold up? Who are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"Just a minute," Makeshift said patiently. "Firebot's gotten his hose tangled in the wiring."

* * *

"Diddlysquat! Wait!"

The spider tank halted just outside the gates to the base compound, and waited as the administrator he recognised from earlier hurried to catch up with him. "Yeah, what is it?"

"You can't just go!"

"Why not?" said Diddlysquat grumpily. "I thought you wanted me to do this."

"Yes, but you can't find them alone!"

"So?" The tank tilted for a moment in a shrug. "I've got friends I can pay a call on."

"And if they're working on government projects, how are they going to get time off without their supervisors kicking up a fuss?" Hendiadys sighed when the tank answered him with silence. "And you'll find them faster if I'm with you."

"How?"

"We know where your old team-mates are," said Hendiadys. "All of them. We know where everyone is. We're the government, Diddlysquat, records are our speciality."

Diddlysquat considered this. "Did Retort send you?"

Hendiadys wondered what his superior's backing meant to a warden of Minicons. "As it happens, yes, but what-" He was cut off as the tank interrupted him.

"Good." Diddlysquat ignored the sputtering 'bot. "Which way?"

"That depends on who exactly you are looking for..." Hendiadys transformed into his vehicle mode, a hover car, and drove ahead, leading the spider tank to where he might find his associates, even as said tank told him which way he needed to be led.

It was a roundabout thought and didn't appear to make all that much sense. Hendiadys felt rather proud of it.

* * *

_Disclaimer: Much to my annoyance, I only own Hendiadys the Plot Device, Terrorsheen the Dumb, Retort and the plot. Diddlysquat belongs to ckret, and Hypotenuse is mine in name only. As a character he belongs in Sanctified By Oppression (which you will read now or forever hold your peace) and with Diddlysquat. Everyone else is not mine, I don't own even a tiny part of Cybertron, but if I did, I'd go there for the summer each year and spend a week or two beating rival fans off it with a pitchfork._

_Many thanks to those of the Padded Cell who informed me about the Minicons' characters months and months ago when I was researching, long before this plot took hold; to ckret for letting me write Diddlysquat (thankyouthankyouthankyou) and also for checking the continuity and his character. It should also be mentioned that were it not for Cobalt, Prowl would have developed a nasty armour condition called 'pant', which one assumes would have eaten away all his paint, except that Cobalt pointed out the typo and I fixed it._


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: If they're lousy, they're mine. If they're not, they're not. Which basically means I get Hendiadys, Retort, Terrorsheen, Hypotenuse, Tangent and Earthseeder, ckret owns Protowisp, Primer Charge, Seek Destroy, the timeline/fic this is set in (SBO forever!) and the ever-glompable Diddlysquat. Hasbro gets the rest, at least for the moment… _

_Indigo-ink, thanks for the review - and the show lost nearly all the interesting personalities when it neglected the Minicons. Which might be why they've invaded every fic of mine for the foreseeable future; looks like they know a soft touch when they see one…_

_Multiple thanks go, again, to ckret, for her help, timeline and the Spidertank Posse. Now the Diddlysquatists have a whole pantheon to work with!_

_And after months of rewriting the notes, cast and plot changes and caffeine consumption to rival Trypticon's fuel intake, (or perhaps even Diddlysquat's) part two is here, written slowly and posted in haste. Beware of bureaucrats, ambiguity, and disgruntled rescue workers. Silliness ahead._

* * *

**Searching For The Search Party**

Regalix by night wasn't very different from Regalix by day. The streets were the same, the people hardly changed, and there was little more to see. There wasn't quite as much construction work, as with most outdoor activities, but nearly everything else went on as usual. They just turned on the lights in one or two more places.

No more people were watching than there were at any otherthere ever were time as a slightly shabby hover-car led the way towards a particularly dense concentration of construction sites. There were parts of the city that were finished, and there were those that had yet to be designed, and then there were those still being built. There was plenty of work to be done, and plenty of people who wanted to do it (or at least get paid for doing it), so there was a good chance that if you were looking for someone, you'd find them on a construction site – in fact, the person they sought now was virtually guaranteed to be on one. Even so, Diddlysquat didn't have much faith in the administrator, and wasn't really expecting to get anything done fast.

As it happened, Hendiadys got lucky: the first person he was directed to find was someone he'd spoken to only the day before. Sometimes, signing payslips for government projects had its advantages. But like any wise civil servant, he never took risks where matters could be pre-arranged to his advantage.

So he called ahead. Just to be sure.

"Are you sure he's here?" Diddlysquat trudged after the nondescript hover-car in his own vehicle mode. He was half hoping that his guide would be wrong – then he'd have an excuse to ditch the annoying loser and find his friends himself.

"Positive," came the happy reply as Hendiadys came to a stop, prompting the spider tank, who'd been following a bit too closely, to stumble to an abrupt halt. Piles of equipment now, most of it still waiting to be assembled, surrounded them. Diddlysquat vaguely recognised some of the parts as belonging to terraforming machinery. Still wondering, he turned his sensors back in time to see Hendiadys transform and stride off through the heaps of… things. Grumbling a bit to himself, the caretaker did likewise and followed.

The first person they saw wasn't exactly a person, or at least they couldn't be seen behind the printout they were holding. A partially assembled module was on the ground; from the tilting motions of the printout sheet back and forth, it looked as though the 'bot was having some trouble with the instructions. The irritated muttering from behind the sheet was also a clue.

A snigger drew the visiting 'bots' attention; to their right a blue Decepticon was sitting on a pile of crates, a half-empty cube of Energon in his hands, and drawing great amusement from his co-worker's puzzlement. "Don't mind her," he said without looking over. "The others are on break over there," here he jerked a thumb to indicate the direction, but said others were obviously hidden by another pile of parts, "but she's still stuck with that."

"Heya, Primey," called Diddlysquat, grinning.

The blue Decepticon's smirk vanished faster then Mirage from a crime scene. His expression as he turned towards the newcomers was one of combined embarrassment and annoyance. "Hi, Diddlysquat," he groaned, his gaze shifting to the admin. "Hey, I thought you said you wanted to talk about something important."

"It _is_ important," Hendiadys asserted. "But…" He trailed off, looking uneasily at the other 'bot, still hidden by the instructions she was examining. "But there are security implications. Perhaps we could discuss-"

He was interrupted by a snarl of frustration as the anonymous 'bot all but threw down the instructions, turned and stomped a few steps away to a gap in the piles of components, apparently glaring at the crew on break. "All right, who drew this slagging diagram?" she demanded.

"Er…" said someone, possibly while moving to put some cover between themselves and the angry Decepticon.

"YOU!" The infuriated construction worker – a green and grey Decepticon of roughly similar design to Diddlysquat – gave chase, demanding the other 'bot come over and explain what, exactly, his sorry excuse for a diagram was supposed to mean – and while she was distracted with her newfound scapegoat, Diddlysquat began explaining the problem to his friend.

"So you want me to come and help you find these Minicons."

"Well, yeah."

'Primey', whose mood seemed to have swung from cheerful to morose in the time it took him to react to Diddlysquat's nickname, gave the other Decepticon a flat stare, but didn't say anything further.

Hendiadys, in the grand tradition of people who are uncomfortable with long silences, cast about for something to say. That he didn't hit upon 'the weather' as a topic might only be put down to an act of Primus. "So, Primer Charge," he smiled, trying in vain to lighten the mood, "you didn't tell me on the comlink what you were doing here."

"Checking up on the terraforming progress," the engineer said dully. "They've only got about half the machinery working, you know. They've been ahead of schedule up to now, but if they don't keep it up, some of my resources are going to wind up being shunted into keeping them going."

"Yeah, yeah, but are you gonna come with me?" Diddlysquat wanted to know. Fast. This was taking far too long for his liking. Every second they delayed, the Emergency Team was doing who-knew-what, possibly while being stalked by terrorists. Terrorists, that is, who weren't the Night Attack Team. Or even the Havoc Team (for once).

Before Primer Charge could answer, however, the other spider tank came back, triumphantly wielding an edited set of instructions. "Thought he could get away with it, but I fixed his diagrams for him, all right," she crowed. "Oh, Diddlysquat. Hi."

An idea struck Diddlysquat. "Hey, Protowisp," he greeted, "do me a favour and keep a sensor contact on the Minicons, willya?"

Protowisp paused. "Will I get paid for this?"

The caretaker chuckled. "Nah. I'm just gonna be out for a bit, so someone oughta check on them."

"Oh, all right," she grumbled. "I _suppose_ I might as well go hang around the corridors for a couple of hours or so. It's not like I've got anything _else_ to do."

"Thanks," said Diddlysquat cheerfully. "Come on, Primey, we've still got another guy to find."

"I never said I was-"

"So? I'm saying you are. Now just transform and follow the ugly car-guy."

* * *

"Stupid cable. Stupid wall. Stupid…" Prowl's chant went on as the Emergency Team continued. They had transformed to their various vehicle modes in order to pick up speed, and it had been all his teammates could do to keep him from racing on ahead of them. Now he took the lead on the ground, occasionally forgetting himself and putting on a burst of speed, only to drop back beside Firebot's much slower fire engine form moments later. 

Above them, Makeshift flew through the darkness. While power still flowed to this section and they could have activated some lights if they wanted to, they did not, for three reasons: one, this area did not seem to have been in use for some time and they weren't sure whether it was in useable condition or not; two, they did not want to risk attracting undue attention to the area; three, the darkness lack of light wasn't really all that much of a problem for them anyway. Part of the medic's mind was running through that now, trying to distract himself from the line of thought that was occupying the rest of his awareness.

Cybertron had been a factory world and was therefore a maze of corridors in and of itself: he was used to the fact that his planet was effectively one giant building. And it wasn't the absence of light that bothered him: he had long since grown accustomed to working in darkness, and had had occasion to venture into the older, unused levels of the planet a few times before.

Makeshift liked to keep himself busy, as a rule. On the other hand, he no longer had his datapads and notes with which to occupy him, and so he thought instead.

Makeshift He'had never been a selfish person. It had taken Makeshift a very short time indeed to grasp the scale of his purpose and, to a degree, the futility of it. It was his mission, his function, the purpose around which he was built, to help others. As Dune Runner had pointed out once, he couldn't save everyone.

But as Makeshift knew, he couldn't stop trying, either. Which was why he devoted all his time to the purpose. There wasn't going to be enough time as it was, so who was he to idle when there were lives on the line?

On the rare occasions that he thought about it, Makeshift often reflected that he didn't think he knew _how_ to stop. One of the others might tease him from time to time about not having a life of his own, but he did not mind in the least. Other people sometimes thought it strange to spend even one's spare time working, or to never lose one's temper, or to be eternally compassionate. His teammates, on the other hand, knew that Makeshift had simply chosen to live for others rather than himself.

Makeshift thought that it made things a great deal simpler. How dreary it would be, he thought, to spend your every waking moment thinking about yourself! To recharge yourself and clean your shell and complete your work and reap your benefits and to have your fun and enjoy yourself at times, to love things for what they gave to you and in short, to centre everything, sooner or later, around the way in which they related to yourself. And then when everything was done and you were, in theory, happy - well, Makeshift had certainly never seen it work for anyone else, had never considered it worthwhile to try it himself. In the long run, he had noticed, real happiness almost invariably came from interacting with others in one way or another. Fortunately, as far as the Minicon was concerned, selfishness was simply a trick that he had never gotten the hang of.

Makeshift had been delightedHe'd been thrilled, therefore, when the war had ended. Even the news of the Minicons' new position had failed to dismay him; he was so blinded with relief. And that had been enough, for a while. But discontent spread, and after some time even Makeshift had come to see that there were other problems, places where people needed both his skills and those of his teammates. Nor could he fail to acknowledge the misery among many of his fellow Minicons.

But given the alternatives, Makeshift hadn't really seen anything much he could do about it. He had had little choice but to make do with studying to ready himself for the day, which surely had to come, when he could return to practising his craft.

He hadn't known Laserbeak well: the little camera-bot had been present with the Autobots on Earth, but had usually been too busy with surveillance matters to associate with a Minicon team he hardly knew. In fact, the only time Makeshift remembered having anything to do with the camera bird was after Sideways had infiltrated – no, he decided, _infected_ was probably a better word for it – infected the base's computer in an attack targeted at the human younglings. During his assault on the Autobots' communications, the shape-shifter had lashed out at Laserbeak via the latter's video-feed link with the computer. Laserbeak had been knocked offline by the mere shock of the disruption to his systems, and fell from the sky – only to be crushed underfoot by one of the much larger Decepticons.

Makeshift had been startled and shocked when the tiny 'bot had been brought in for repairs, pleased when his skills had been requested to help and dismayed when he saw the extent of the damage. Apart from the damage to Laserbeak's shell from both the fall and being trampled, the blast of feedback that Sideways had sent his way had scrambled most of his sensory and communications equipment. Despite having more than half his systems in disarray, Laserbeak had been fortunate in that his vital systems had not immediately or severely been affected.

Makeshift had helped to repair him, but he had not even been present when the camera bird had come back online. It was doubtful Laserbeak even knew about the medic's involvement in the matter, for which the latter was rather grateful. He didn't help people just so that they would know he had done it.

It rather seemed that they would have to know about it this time. Makeshift didn't mind that either. An unassuming nature was to be maintained at all times, but it was rarely a bad idea to also maintain a reputation for confidence and professionalism and so on. It reassured those around you, and being well known for hard work, highly skilled care and consistent reliability made it easier to get jobs in places where his function would be of some help to others, and this made him happier.

Professionalism, however… that, the medic sometimes had trouble with, if only because his understanding of the term was so different to that of most other people. On the whole, they took it to mean obeying the rules and behaving in a cool, calm fashion at all times. And as far as that went, Makeshift agreed with the concept. But when it came to mean refusing to get involved, shying away from personal attachments and acting like he possessed no emotions of his own… there, he would reject it. Makeshift had no inclination to meddle in other people's business as such, but he drew the line at behaving like an unfeeling drone. If you didn't feel for those in your charge, how could you be trusted with them?

Besides, his patients were quite clearly his business, and his task was to repair them, or rescue them, or even both, depending on the individual and the circumstances. Makeshift, needless to say, did not hold with or even really grasp the idea of emotional detachment. Professional detachment, yes, that he could and did. But asking him to maintain true emotional distance was like asking electricity to keep away from wires. Why, he wondered, and how?

Of course, it did make failure hurt all the more, but in Makeshift's opinion, a medic (or, indeed any person)nyone who was not bothered or upset by the death or death or pain of someone in their care was neither a medic nor any kind of person at all.

Below him, one of his teammates was also considering their position, though inn a slightly different manner...

_He was on a mission. A person's life might well be at stake. He had to be professional, cool, calm, collected, vigilant, and serious._

He had no idea where he was. For all he knew, there was a group of desperate, bird-napping terrorists down here with him, in the tunnels of Cybertron. The area might well be dangerous. The only people who knew that he and his friends were gone from where they were supposed to be would not tell anyone, and he wasn't even here to play.

And yet, following the trail of an insanely long computer cable through a passageway he shouldn't be in, Prowl was feeling pretty good. This was normal, and normality was reassuring, no matter its form.

Besides, this was the sort of thing he'd fantasised about – a mysterious disappearance, an act of sabotage, and only one person daring enough to follow the lead and piece together apparently unrelated facts to find the truth…

Mostly, though, he was simply enjoying the sensation of speed, and of being back at work, and putting his tracking skills to good use. It wasn't much of a challenge, to be truthful, but he had no doubt things would get more complicated; they always did, after all.

_Watch out, Cybertron: Prowl and co. are back in business!_

If the investigator's audios picked up a faint dripping sound from behind him through the noise of engines and rotors, he didn't comment on it to his partners.

* * *

There were patches of Cybertron's surface that were unusable and unsafe because they had been used as minefields during the war. In the interests of gaining building space and of stopping people from having their legs blown off on a daily basis, these areas had been marked out, and as many people as possible recruited into the mine-removal effort. It was not a safe task. Indeed, most of the people who did sign up were drawn in by the unusually high pay and nearly all of them were the kind of 'bots who could afford to risk an explosion at close range: the more armour, the better. 

Of course, there were always a few fools who simply did it for the money, either from greed or desperation, though they knew it was danger money. And every so often, there were accidents. But that was life, and if someone was stupid enough to risk their shell like that, they were no loss to society as a whole. That was the Decepticon view, at least, and most of the people in charge of the project were Decepticons. If you asked, they'd say it was because they'd kept better records of where they left their mines (and you couldn't expect them to hand such records over to a chiefly Autobot crew).

It gave the impression, then, of being a rather dangerous place to venture into. Or it would have, except that Diddlysquat and Primer Charge knew perfectly well that it was just a place. Silly Autobots like Hendiadys got nervous and intimidated, but that was their problem.

Primer Charge had cheered up a fair bit by the time they ran across their other travelling companion. He'd been a bit disgruntled at having been dragged from his beloved projects, but after a few minutes was in pretty good form again.

"Eh, I could do with a break anyway," he told Diddlysquat. The engineer was bringing up the rear in pickup truck mode. "Just as long as this doesn't take too long."

"It better not," said Diddlysquat, who was increasingly anxious to get going. "So where is he?" he asked of Hendiadys, who was slowing to a halt again.

"Over there, I think," answered the admin, a tad uncertainly. "At least, I think… _is_ that him?"

Diddlysquat couldn't actually tell where 'over there' was, since the hover-car hadn't thought to transform and point. "How should I know?" he snapped, shifting to robot mode and glancing around. "Oh. Him. Yeah. I thought he was still working on the minefield projects, all right."

"Who's 'he?" asked the pickup truck behind him; Primer Charge transformed so as to be able to see past the others, but looked around blankly, not recognising anyone there. Diddlysquat was already walking over to the 'bot in question, though, so his confusion didn't last long.

Diddlysquat could hear shrapnel crunching under his feet, and decided not to hang about, always a smart choice in a minefield. "Hey, Earthseeder?"

The muddy-coloured Decepticon turned, holo-map in hand, red optical visor brightening as he recognised a friend. "Diddlysquat! Nice to see you."

"Same here, but we haven't got time to talk," the caretaker said shortly. "Come with us. I'll explain on the way."

"Uh…" Earthseeder hesitated, but Diddlysquat was already in spider tank mode, and leaving; wanting to know what was going on, the ex-minelayer had no choice but to do the same. For all he knew, it might be important.

* * *

It was not until Prowl called their attention to it that the Emergency Team realised that they were about to run out of cable to follow. 

The miniature pursuit car sped up when he found that it really was the end of the line that he saw, calling to the others to follow him. Neither Makeshift nor Firebot were gifted with Prowl's heightened sense of vision; not knowing what it was that his partner saw, Makeshift sped up in fear. Forgetting his rotors, he rotated the nacelles at the ends of his wings forward, using jets now, and breezed past his slower team leader as he went to catch up with the search specialist, who already had a good head start.

The sound of his engines rose until it was thunder in Makeshift's audios, his visual sensors training themselves out of habit on a sudden burst of light up ahead of him, as Prowl thoughtfully activated his headlights for them to trace him by. A minute later the medic saw the searchlights blink out: his team-mate had transformed, but by then the Osprey was already drawing close enough that it didn't matter any more.

Prowl was standing between his find and Makeshift as the silver aircraft transformed just above the ground and landed. Fearing the worst for Laserbeak, the medic hastily made to look over his partner's shoulder. "Is it bad?" he asked with a querulous look.

"That depends on how you look at it," Prowl answered, stepping aside to show him no more than the end of an unplugged computer cable. Crouching on the floor and picking it up, the investigator tapped it lightly, considering its condition. A few flakes of something fell away and floated to the floor. Automatically pulling a torch from a subspace pocket with which to get a clearer look at the cable, he examined the evidence further. "Huh. There're bits of ash on it. Looks like it's been burnt."

"Burnt?" asked Firebot, who had driven up and transformed in time to catch the last part of his sentence. "Has there been a fire?"

"I don't think so," said Prowl dryly, noting the conspicuous absence of scorch marks on both the walls and the floor as he passed the cable end to Makeshift.

The medic inspected it critically. "No, this just looks as though whatever it was plugged into got burned out or scorched.

"Whatever that was," Prowl shrugged unconcernedly. "I'd say that Laserbeak's been here, though."

"Why?" asked the others together.

The blue and white searcher crouched on the floor, and tapped to indicate where they should look. "These paint traces are the same colours as him," Prowl pointed out, showing them the ingrained streaks of blue and orange where their owner had scraped along the floor. "And if he disappeared around here," he continued proudly, "it would be a very strange coincidence if someone else with the same colours were also down here in an unused corridor."

"Good point," Firebot agreed. Prowl grinned delightedly. "But we've run out of cable length to follow, which means it's your call now. Lead on!" The two ground-based transformers shifted to vehicle mode and were about to move on when they noticed that Makeshift had not done likewise, had not, in fact, moved from staring thoughtfully at the flecks of paint. "Makeshift?" prompted the red fire engine.

"Hmm?" The silver medic started slightly. "Oh, yes. Go ahead. I'll catch up with you in a minute. I'm just… thinking."

"Right. You know the drill," his leader said, but it was a routine question, not one that sprung from any doubt that his teammate knew how to take care of himself. Firebot knew his friend too well for that, and appreciative of the very real need that Makeshift sometimes had for undisturbed time and space to think, whether it caught him while he was studying or in the middle of a delicate task or just while flying from one place to another, the two rescue workers complied without complaint for his request.

* * *

Fuelled by terror, Laserbeak had been flying for an hour or more when it really dawned upon him that he was lost. He slowed down and hovered doubtfully, unwilling to take the risk of landing. 

The port into which the cable had been plugged was damaged, he noticed as warnings flashed on his vision. The surrounding circuits had been burnt out (and slot, but it hurt). According to his internal chronometer, this had taken place in an instant: no time had passed during which he could have gone from the roof of a warehouse to the lower levels of his planet, not to mention the business with the slotting cable… His paint was scraped and scratched in places, his armour battered in places that suggested he had crashed recently, but he didn't remember anything like that, either…

Laserbeak was, to say the least, confused.

Seeing no turn in the corridor ahead, no side passages or other alternatives, the orange camera bird hesitated, scanning the hallway through lenses designed to watch for danger, to pick up on anything out of the ordinary.

After some hurried deliberation, he came to a decision, and flew on.

* * *

The (other) search party was nowseveral levels under the base, and Diddlysquat was amazed by all the mess. It wasn't just that the place was being reconstructed still; it was also that he'd seen this level once, months ago, and it looked just as bad as it had then. Progress was the byword of late. It just wasn't the trend. 

He paid no attention to the sounds from behind him as Earthseeder, large and ungainly as ever in robot mode, ran into difficulty navigating through the cables and occasional technician; Primer Charge was having much more success, which probably also had something to do with his working in these conditions half the time.

Hendiadys had abandoned them, much to his delight. Having directed them down here to meet with someone who'd show them where to start looking, the official had then slunk off to recover from the ordeal of leading three Decepticons around the city and through a minefield, along with the constant failure to observe protocol, and the numerous security breaches they'd committed along the way.

Diddlysquat was slightly proud of their efforts.

"So where's the guy who's supposed to show us the way now?" asked Primer Charge, coming alongside the caretaker.

"I'm here," said a tech, picking his way towards them. Not a tech, in fact: Diddlysquat was a little surprised to see who it was. Earthseeder, who had just managed to catch up, caught sight of their guide and groaned.

"I thought you were working on the minefields," said Diddlysquat, as Terrorsheen turned around and started leading them in the direction he'd come from.

"He was," muttered Earthseeder, but then he had to duck so as not to hit something that looked like a vital section of the base's wiring, and as his design made it impossible to bend his neck easily, this manoeuvre took up most of his attention.

"Eh, I'm better at admin stuff," shrugged Terrorsheen, warily avoiding some hazardous-looking equipment.

"Figures you'd run indoors first chance you got," snorted Primer Charge, who'd apparently met the green tank before. Terrorsheen chose not to answer.

"Is this it?" Diddlysquat peered down an opening to their left, where a darkened passageway led out, away from the base, a single computer cable trailing away into the darknessgloom.

"Yeah. Some of the others reckon the cable's a clue."

"Right. Let's go." Diddlysquat transformed, cuing the other two to do the same, and the search party was on the way at long last.

As Earthseeder passed in his oversized, vaguely spider-tank-like transform, Terrorsheen hesitated – but he said nothing, and the terrible three made their way into the darkness.

Until, that was, Primer Charge got fed up with nearly bumping into Diddlysquat's rear time and again, and switched on his headlights.

* * *

Retort stared across his desk, his elbows resting on the unusually datapad-free surface, chin on his hands. He was musing over people in general, and their attitudes in particular. Diddlysquat had accidentally reminded him of just how mistrustful most Decepticons of that rank were, both of desks and of the people who were behind them. 

The red Transformer smiled almost fondly. In his day, when you needed a table to work on you took what you could get. An officer who had an actual _desk_ (and sat behind it, even when they didn't have to) was to be viewed with suspicion. Sitting behind desks was not seen as getting anything worthwhile done; if something _did_ require desk work, you delegated that part to your aides and left yourself free to deal with more important things.

Ah, yes, the aides… Retort remembered when ten or more had swarmed around him like satellites about a planet, querying and listening and informing and presenting and receiving, every now and then one or two breaking off to carry out his orders, to be replaced by as many as had left. In those days you moved throughout the base, supervising and watching and, importantly, keeping your underlings on the go. You didn't sit around in your office feeling useless; you went and actively did something. In this respect, he almost envied Hendiadys his job.

Retort did not really mind his lot; there was a certain delight, he had discovered, in being able to sit quietly and hear everything at once instead of running around searching it all out, in being able to control the threads of power with such ease as he did now. He simply wished that he knew which to do: to be a hands on, proactive looking supervisor, or a distant, quietly detached controller, gently pulling the strings behind the scenes. Either way, Retort very much intended to remain in control; it was simply a matter of finding out which approach it would be most advantageous to take, and as yet there was no clear favourite.

For now, however, he could, and would, be patient.

He was aware of his fellow administrator's entrance and looked up as the other bot approached his desk. "Yes, Hendiadys?"

"The team we dispatched upon your orders have left on their… assignment, Senior Secretary."

Retort nodded. He was relieved by the news: he'd been beginning to feel that the bots he was sending could never have left soon enough for his liking. "How many are going?"

"Three, Senior Secretary: Primer Charge and Earthseeder went with Diddlysquat."

Retort mentally sighed, vowing to see some changes made to the terms of his contract of employment. He was still settling into this post (he hadn't even tried out most of the associated 'perks') but already he could see some aspects of it that would be changed, and fast, if he had anything to do with it. "Hendiadys?"

His executive radiated an emanation of innocence. "Yes, Senior Secretary?"

"Am I alone in wishing that the titles borne by the more senior members of staff within the system of government under and in which we serve, had not been decided upon by certain of those people who, while being both our superiors in rank and as such, those whom for the time being we refer to as our leaders, have perhaps not the mastery of language and understanding of such matters as might be wished for, and possibly that it might have been more desirable to have referred such choices to someone with a more straightforward approach to such things?" Translated, he meant: _We shouldn't have let Hot Shot amuse himself by choosing our titles, should we?_

"It might have been preferable if we hadn't," Hendiadys agreed, noting that his efforts to teach Retort civil-servant-speak appeared to be paying off. "On the other hand, it did distract him while we slipped the security policies through."

"Yes," Retort mused. "I suppose it was worthwhile, all in all. Unfortunately that seems to be the trouble with bureaucracy: the only leader complacent enough to suit our purposes, should we opt to take that course, is also so laid back that he puts his personal entertainment before the good of the planet and doesn't seem to grasp the concept of propriety or following an _appropriate_ course of action."

"Ah," Hendiadys smiled. "I take it that you are referring to the consequences of our issuing him with the password to access and alter the settings of every computer in the city."

"That incident had remembered itself to me."

"It was entirely correct protocol," Hendiadys reminded him. "He is one of the two rulers of the planet. How could we have possibly foreseen what would come of it?"

Retort shook his head ruefully. "The thought occurs to me that we should probably have expected something like that to happen. But the fact remains that he changed every screensaver in Regalix to the image of some bizarre alien idol."

"From what I gather, it wasn't a god, as such. Just an advertising image for the public viewing of an enactment of a fictional story." It need hardy be said that Hendiadys had never had much exposure to popular culture. "Some cultural legend, as I understand it. The 'John Wayne' creature mentioned among the markings seems to be some sort of mythological hero."

"Killed a monster, did he?"

"Some other aliens, I think."

"Ah. A soldier?"

"No… I don't think so."

Retort nodded. "A murderer. I see. And they publicly denounced him and the tales of his dark misdeeds and eventual fate served as a warning to others? That seems to be the usual formula…"

"From what I heard, he was adored as a hero."

"Oh." The secretary was surprised. He hadn't heard that these humans were so Decepticon-like. It was puzzling. "A very popular celebrity, then? Or a politician, perhaps," Retort added thoughtfully.

"A politician?"

"What other kind of person can get away with murder, Hendiadys? I begin to see the connection with our _beloved_ leader…"

"It might explain why Hot Shot behaves so outrageously, with such a role model," Hendiadys agreed. "But Retort, surely politicians could hardly _really_ get away with murder, could they?"

The Decepticon paused, surprised to learn that his assistant was even more naïve than he'd thought. "Why not? They've been doing it for most of our history." Retort pulled a datapad from the pile on his desk, and began scanning the text on its screen. "Or were you perhaps not around for the past few million years?"

Hendiadys, for whom sarcasm had not been a compulsory part of training, couldn't think of a good answer to that.

After a few minutes of silence, he said, "It could have been worse, though, when you think about it."

"Could it not, Ministerial Executive Secretary of Public Construction and Conservation Projects?" Retort did not look up as he addressed Hendiadys with his full title, in all of its extreme silliness. He didn't have to see the grimace to know it was there. It was etched into the programming of every official high-ranking enough to have a decent salary. Most of them flinched out of reflex every time someone started to introduce them now.

"Well," Hendiadys suggested weakly, "at least we weren't encumbered with the title of 'Co-Commander of the Cybertronian Empire'. Or any title including the term 'Co-Commander'," he added after a moment's thought. "I felt rather sorry for Demolisher every time he had to introduce himself. Everyone thought he was stuttering, you know."

The senior of the two smiled to himself, his head bent over the datapads detailing supply contracts "And no pity for he who created the title?"

"Oh, he didn't notice. In any case, he thought it was, and I quote: "kind of cool"."

"We must be thankful for whoever talked him into changing it."

"Maybe," agreed Hendiadys, who knew a little more about that person than Retort did. "He does seem to enjoy using a certain pattern with them: 'Senior Secretary', 'Co-Commander'…"

"Yes, our beloved Co-Leader is a veritable fount of alliterative proficiency," Retort said sourly. "And in any case, Hendiadys, what was it that you were originally coming to see me about?"

Hendiadys started and glanced at the pad in his hand. "Oh, of course. Forgive me, Senior Secretary. I was coming to let you know that Hot Shot has just decided to pay an unannounced visit to the Minicons. He told me that he thought he should drop in and see how Jolt was getting along..."

Retort leapt from his seat so fast that the administrator jumped back out of instinct. "Primus have mercy on us! Why didn't you tell me? And he'll arrive to find the Minicon supervisor absent from his post? He'll want us to dismiss Diddlysquat! Complain that the service provided is inadequate! Kick up a fuss and set up a scandal the like of which our undeveloped government has yet to see and cannot handle at this delicate stage!" It was his first opportunity so far to try a dramatic outburst, and Retort found himself rather enjoying it.

The other bot looked fearful, much to his delight. "Are you sure?" Hendiadys asked nervously, feeling the panic rising within him. "Maybe he will just-"

The red one interrupted him, leaving his desk to pace fretfully up and down in front of the massive windows. "Hendiadys, there is _no_ person who can throw a tantrum better than a puerile head of state! He- but wait." Retort hesitated in his stride, one foot hovering just above the floor. "I see a possibility. How skilful is the nation's favourite at distinguishing between Decepticons?"

"Not very good; he doesn't pay much attention to them and the spider tank models tend to be quite similar in appearance. But he's spoken to Diddlysquat once or twice before…"

Retort dismissed the problem with an unconcerned gesture. "No matter. Hendiadys, we need a stand-in! Triple their pay for the assignment and find me the best person for the job. Administrator, get me a spider tank!"

* * *

Much to their dismay, - or to Diddlysquat's, at least - the search team had encountered a problem. Having reached a junction, they now found themselves unsure which corridor to take. 

Nothing was said for a minute; the three-vehicle convoy hesitated, and then Primer Charge spoke.

"Terrorsheen said the cable was a clue."

"They _think_ it's a clue," corrected Diddlysquat, turret swivelling between the two options. "We haven't got time to get this wrong."

"So which way _do_ you think we should go?" countered the engineer.

"Well, they did leave a trail," pointed out Earthseeder, who'd been watching where he walked out of habit. Diddlysquat swung his sensors down to see that, indeed, a trickle of something liquid and shiny was pooling in a line down the length of the cable; he thought he recognised a tyre mark here and there.

That didn't look good.

"Fine. This way," he said distractedly and moved on with increased speed. He _knew_ that fragging paper-pusher had wasted too much time! Diddlysquat had been on the trail less than an hour and a half, and already, he feared, he had to face the possibility that one of his charges might be injured.

* * *

"Look, I can understand your wanting to spread the pain around, but this is really dumb." 

Hendiadys didn't grimace, but his smile was fixed. Finding a substitute had been the easy part; as it happened, he'd found one lounging around the base corridors. Dealing with Decepticons wasn't so bad, considering: even now, he was remembering exactly why they valued Diddlysquat's services so much. Hypotenuse had not reacted well to news of Retort's plan, although the mention of Hot Shot coming might have had something to do with that.

"How's a substitute going to fill in? Or handle Seek Destroy? They'll be scrap in less than an hour! And furthermore…" the Minicon looked over as the door opened to admit a grey and green spider tank who edged into the room warily: guessing this was the temp, he turned back to Hendiadys and gestured towards the unwitting offender. "…She looks nothing like Diddlysquat!"

"You're not so bad-looking yourself, shorty," sneered the Decepticon in question, taking the room to be safe and transforming.

Hypotenuse ignored her. "Am I the only one who sees a problem? Nobody in their right mind would mistake the two!" The spider tank whom Hendiadys had found to act as Diddlysquat's stand-in was not only grey and green, but where the real person had blue shielding, hers was white, and of a different shape. And while she was about the same size as the Minicon caretaker himself, her robot form and even her vehicle alternate were riddled with a myriad of small differences that were obvious to anyone who knew the real Diddlysquat. Hypotenuse had no idea how such a creature could ever be mistaken for his friend.

"What about the colour?" he tried to object. The administrator grimaced.

"If Hot Shot does ask, simply inform him that Diddlysquat has recently acquired a new paint job, to get into the spirit of things, you know: a new dawn, a fresh start, and so on, etcetera…"

"He'll _like_ that," the blue Minicon grumbled, not entirely sure in his own mind whether or not that was a complaint or just a fact of life. Regardless, he continued to stare at the new tank-bot; Protowisp stared right back, folding her arms and leaning against the counter behind her.

"Or perhaps you could say that he got an upgrade. I hear they're becoming very popular among the more politically correct officials. Look, everyone is changing their colours these days, in more ways than one, admittedly, but that doesn't alter

the fact that Hot Shot won't notice."

"Yes, he will. Even a blind-" Hypotenuse began to snap, and then stopped as he remembered just who it was that they were taking about. "All right, so maybe he won't, but what about her voice?"

"What about it? Our… adored Co-leader has, not to put too fine a point on it, roughly the same attention span as, as…"

"Three biro pens and a floppy disc?" Hypotenuse suggested.

"I suppose so. If I knew what you meant I would probably agree with you. But you understand my point; she will be fine."

"And what about her alternate mode? And her speech patterns?" snapped the Minicon in frustration. "Hendiadys, _it's not Diddlysquat_!"

The administrator gave him an odd look for that, but shrugged anyway. "It's only _temporary,_ Hypotenuse. It's just for a few hours, at most. Diddlysquat himself will be back here, in person, very soon, and Protowisp knows him well enough to make her services useful to us for now, at any rate."

Behind the official, the Decepticon gave Hypotenuse a mock-friendly grin; he considered blowing a burst of static at her, but the admin was in the way, unaware of the silent contest between the other two.

"I suppose so," Hypotenuse agreed reluctantly. Hendiadys, wisely deciding that it was best for him to quit while he was ahead, left them to it. He had little stamina when it came to dealing with Hot Shot – not, of course, that he was alone in that respect…

The second he was out of the door, Hypotenuse _did_ blow a static burst at Protowisp.

So it began…

* * *

The sound of jet engines alerted the rescue workers to Makeshift's return. The Osprey flew up behind them and assumed his customary position above his partners. Neither the fire engine nor the pursuit car asked what, if any, conclusions he had come to from his deliberations. 

Thankful of the excuse of duty as a cover for concern, Firebot said quietly, "Report."

Makeshift did not seem surprised by this; but then, it was procedure too, like so many of the other small rituals that kept them going and gave them some reprieve at times when they had nothing else. Sometimes just going through the motions of something helped, at least a little. "No further evidence of anything unusual was observed," he supplied simply, equally as quiet as his team mate. Firebot let him be.

The red Minicon was uneasy with this mission. It wasn't logical that he should be: there was almost certainly (and it was _almost_, because he was too experienced to be sure of a situation he hadn't seen) only one life at stake, and they didn't have the patient just yet, so this was in some ways the easy part, and they'd been desperately keen for a chance like this. A small part of him felt guilty about wanting disaster to strike; another countered that disaster would happen anyway; he just wanted a chance to do something about it when it did.

But the whole business with the computer cable was… creepy. And that was itself worrying. Firebot and his partners were as old as the combiners; he'd seen many things the Autobots hadn't even heard of, and led his team into half of them (though he'd led his team, and others, out of _all_ of them). The Emergency Team's leader was not an easy person to shake.

But something about this, especially that cable… he had the impression that it reminded him of something, and he couldn't quite grasp what. And it was immensely frustrating to suspect that there was a threat to your team, and to take them on anyway, because you couldn't even figure out why you had such a feeling. But the suspicion remained, and nagged at him as he drove.

On the other hand, he couldn't turn them back. Not now. For their own sake, as well as Laserbeak's.

He checked his teammates' positions. Makeshift was keeping pace above him; Prowl was gleefully speeding ahead, delighted to have a chance to test his skills after a period of time that was relatively insignificant… but still far, far too long. He was even happier when his keen sensors picked out a side corridor up ahead. Putting on a brief burst of speed, the Minicon skidded and spun slightly before coming to a decision and spinning back to follow the main hallway. Firebot sighed, a whistling sound that wasn't terribly different from the human version; it seemed his partner had moved on to the films now.

Makeshift dropped down to fly beside him, rotors back in use. "If he keeps trying to mimic that sort of stunt, we're going to end up with a patient sooner than we were expecting."

The fire engine made a noise that suggested he was in danger of exploding; the Osprey flicked his sensors towards Firebot sharply, scanning him contemplatively until he clarified his meaning. "He's excited. You know how much Prowl enjoys his job."

"Just like the rest of us," the silver one observed dryly. "On the other hand, possibly once he remembers what the day-to-day practicalities are, perhaps his enthusiasm will wear off a little."

Firebot laughed out loud at that; Makeshift wondered what he'd said that was so funny. "Or if he does smear himself across a wall or two, he might be a bit less keen about cheap entertainment."

"Yes…" The Osprey hesitated: they had reached another junction. "Where's Prowl gone?"

"I'm right here." Prowl flashed his headlights at them from the passage to their left. "Now, if you're done talking about me…"

"Oh, we are," Firebot assured him blithely "Not much to say, really. You haven't changed much over the last two hours."

"As I was saying," the investigator said grumpily, "Laserbeak's down this way. Unless you two have some more gossiping to do, you might want to follow me." Without waiting for an answer, he executed a neat three-point turn and raced on again.

"Hmph," snorted Firebot, driving after Prowl. "Try and keep up with him, more like."

Makeshift, who had remained hovering beside him and was well aware that he himself could in fact quite easily keep up with their unruly teammate, made a sympathetic noise. "Well, I suppose we could, but it depends, really."

The red Minicon gave his teammate a sidelong glance. "On what?"

"Well," said Makeshift innocently, "_do_ we have any more gossiping to do?"

"Not likely!" called Prowl from somewhere up ahead of them. Firebot cursed investigators and their finely tuned sensors. Makeshift merely radiated faint amusement and an emanation that suggested that, were he in robot mode, he would be staring impassively at the ceiling.

"Why th- why not?" he snapped, choosing his words carefully out of deference to Makeshift's being there at his side.

"Because," said Prowl, and his voice was close by now, "I've found the person we're looking for. Well," he amended, "I've found his shell, at least."

* * *

It was not often that Hot Shot ventured into the block wherein the Minicons were, theoretically, housed and looked after and so on. In fact, when he thought about it, he hadn't actually ever been invited there. Come to think of it, he'd never been inside this part of the building at all before. Not that he had failed to speak to the Minicons over the last two years. As a matter of fact, Jolt had visited him a number of times, and on occasion he'd encountered some of the others on their way somewhere, usually with Diddlysquat, or at least with the spider tank in hot pursuit. 

Once or twice, it was true, he had thought that he heard explosions from the direction of this area, and had been universally assured that, no, everything was fine. Diddlysquat tended to get a lot of support from the staff, which was one of the few areas in which old loyalties were swept aside by the knowledge that, were he to lose his job, somebody else would need to do it. Most importantly, as far as the individual members of staff were concerned, it might be one of them.

Although Diddlysquat generally didn't notice it, people in the base were often fairly willing to do him a good turn, in the interest of not being the next person to have Seek Destroy on their tail. His was far from an easy role to end up in.

Protowisp had already made up her mind not to let herself be shoved into it again.

"Jolt should be here soon," she said. Hot Shot nodded.

"There sure are a lot of Minicons around here," he observed, waving to a small group of them who had chosen to hang out nearby. One of them waved back; he grinned. "So, uh, do you let them go wherever they want?"

"No," replied Protowisp bluntly.

Hypotenuse pitched in from her shoulder. "That would be much too dangerous," he lied. "Diddlysquat escorts those of us who leave the block for whatever reason, and our movements are restricted in accordance with the relevant clauses of the treaty you yourself helped draw up. For our own safety, of course."

The trace of bitterness in the blue Minicon's tone went unnoticed by Hot Shot. "Gotcha." He frowned. "What about that other guy?"

"Other guy?" echoed Protowisp and Hypotenuse together.

"Yeah." Hot Shot looked between the two and met blank stares. "The orange guy who's always running around the corridors. Can't remember his name… I asked him once, and he said he'd an important meeting with Retort. Dunno if you know _him_, but Retort's kind of a funny guy, so I didn't spend too long talking. It wouldn't be fair to get your friend into trouble with Retort." The yellow Autobot thought for a minute, while the other two exchanged confused looks. "Oh, I remember: he said his name was Tangent."

"Ah," said Hypotenuse very quietly. "Well, _he_ has his business to see to, so we leave him to it, you know. Just as long as he doesn't leave the building."

"Sure," Hot Shot agreed. He looked past them, back to the four Minicons lounging in the far corner of the room, and waved again. "Hi, guys," he called.

The three who hadn't seen him the first time looked up in surprise (and some shock); the other, Jetstorm, grinned at their expressions. Runway called a greeting in return, but the group were conversing in their native language, and Hot Shot only guessed the meaning.

Even if he heard the dialogue that followed, he certainly didn't understand it.

"That kid? Ugh. Where's that Autobot of Rollbar's when you need him?" muttered Spiral, slouching further down the wall.

"I'd volunteer us to do the aft-whacking honours in his place, but our third isn't here," Runway told her.

"What're they saying?" Hot Shot asked curiously.

"Just how nice it is to have a visitor for once." Hypotenuse wasn't sure how he was controlling his expression.

"Visitor?" Jetstorm beeped mournfully. "And here I thought he was lunch."

"Still could be," Terradive grinned. Jetstorm chuckled and started humming a tune the other fliers apparently knew: they both let out quiet sniggers. Runway murmured about being low on energy, at which the trio gave the Autobot Co-leader a considering look.

"Nah, visitors are off-limits. No attacking 'em. Diddlysquat's orders. And don't think I won't enforce 'em," Spiral folded her arms and fixed the Air Military Minicon in particular with a stern gaze.

"Oh, we know you will. And I'm sure none of those here would ever dream of harming a… a guest. In the meantime… I, for one, need to refuel. See you later." Runway nodded to the earthbound warrior and walked off, fellow fliers in tow. Jetstorm was still humming cheerfully; as they made for the door, Runway started singing along softly, just loud enough for Hypotenuse to catch a bit.

"Be our guest, be our guest…" 

He ignored them, trying to focus on what Hot Shot was saying to Protowisp. But they carried on into the hallway, Terradive coming in for one, enthusiastically sung line that was clearly audible to Hypotenuse even over the sound of Hot Shot's voice.

"…_We've had nobody for years and we're obsessed!…"_

* * *

They were far underground, and in the dark, and they might be lost. They were more afraid of losing someone else. 

Makeshift transformed and crouched by the apparently lifeless shell. "Oh, no…" he murmured softly.

"If you tell me he's going to die, I'll kill him myself," said Prowl.

"Why?" Firebot frowned, wondering if all the Earth culture had been affecting his partner more deeply than he had known.

"I've only just found him! What kind of a time is that to depart this life?" Prowl folded his arms. If looks could kill, Firebot would have been most interested to see what effect the one his teammate was wearing now might have on a corpse.

"Well, he could be badly damaged and who knows how long he's been out here…" Firebot paused to assess the reaction he was getting.

"Are you implying that I'm too slow?" Prowl demanded. Firebot mentally crossed out 'cultural contamination' on the foreseeable report and ticked the box marked 'pride'. Outwardly, he shook his head. The investigator's indignation faded somewhat. "Good." Prowl turned and looked down at the medic. "So what do you think's up with him?"

"No doubt he saw you coming," remarked Makeshift, extracting a couple of tools. Prowl gaped as only a mouthless 'bot could; Firebot managed a stunned laugh. "Excuse me; I need to work here."

The other Minicons backed away obediently, still giving their partner a pair of dumbfounded looks. Once they were out of hearing range, at least of Makeshift when he was trying to concentrate, Prowl looked at the red one. "I don't believe he just did that."

"Neither do I." Firebot couldn't suppress a chuckle at his partner's expression.

Beside him, the blue and white bot was shaking his head. "I mean, I didn't even know Makeshift could do that."

"He had the advantage of surprise, all right."

"From Dune Runner, yeah, I'd expect that. Or Iceberg. Or us. But Makeshift?"

His leader shrugged cheerfully. "It must be a sign of the times, when Makeshift is snide."

"Next will come the agoraphobia of Dune Runner and Thunderclash's altruism," agreed Prowl, brightening up. "Then will the people staple cheque books to their javelins and Unicron will dance the Hokey-Pokey." The blue and white Minicon spread his hands and cackled. "The Apocalypse is nigh!" he cried, and then stopped when he saw the way Firebot was looking at him. "What?"

The red Minicon shook his head. "Forget Makeshift; it's you I have to worry about, isn't it?"

"Yep," his partner agreed cheerfully.

"Oh, for…"

* * *

…And it was over. 

The whole ordeal had lasted less than an hour, but to Hypotenuse it felt like an eternity had passed before the door closed behind Hot Shot. Jolt, ever a martyr for the cause, had gone with him. Someone had suggested such valour deserved a fitting tribute. Hypotenuse saw nothing wrong with that, and left them to it. He himself had more important things to do.

Specifically, he was slumped over a table, head in his arms, and wondering what could be taking Diddlysquat so long. That terrorists might be involved did not console him any.

"We need a new plan," said someone to his left. The blue Minicon felt a poke. "Hello?"

"Eh, c'mon Mirage, we've a race to… hey, what's with all the burn marks? Seek Destroy again or what? What the frell was he shooting at? Diddlysquat's out, isn't he?"

"See, Downshift, you're always last on the scene. Some of us," came Incinerator's proud tones, "were doing distraction duty while you were lazing."

"Yeah, yeah," said Downshift unconcernedly, "but what were you doing it for?"

"Keeping Seek Destroy off the temp's back. Playing Hide and Seek."

There was a pause, as if the others were viewing the damage.

"With missiles?" asked Mirage.

"Among other things."

"Ergh," mumbled Hypotenuse, stirring on the bench. The other three turned to stare as the blue heap propped itself up on its elbows and gave them a slightly unbalanced look. "We need a new plan," he said.

"Well, good morning, sunshine," grinned Incinerator, notwithstanding that it was another few hours until dawn.

"Go talk to the Night Attack Team," groaned Hypotenuse, though whether it was a curse or a real order remained ambiguous. He paused, reorganised his thoughts, and clarified. "You three go round up some of the others. Especially Cosine."

Incinerator grinned, shooting a look at Downshift that might be instantly translated to: _Race you._ The pair transformed and sped off in the same direction. Mirage lingered for a second, debating whether to send for a medic: Hypotenuse looked a little like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. After a second or two, he, too, left, reflecting that madn- eccentricity in some way or another was perfectly normal.

Almost immediately after he had gone, the door opened yet again. This time, it was an all-too-familiar orange statistician who made the mistake of walking in. He stopped when he spotted his blue colleague, assessing for a moment…

"Tangent." Hypotenuse had never growled before, and to listen to him was to understand why: he was terrible at it. "I want a word with you."

* * *

Diddlysquat's search party had reached the end, so to speak, of the line: they'd run out of cable. 

To the caretaker's simultaneous relief and horror, this was not a problem because the trail of fluid was now thick and clear enough to follow, even just by the sound of splashing.

"Something wrong?" Primer Charge knew him well enough to pick up on the spider tank's increasingly erratic movements, caught in the beams of the dump truck's headlights.

"Yeah," said Diddlysquat, "I might lose my job 'cause I got a Minicon killed. That sounds pretty wrong to me." But he sounded distracted.

The truck behind him flicked headlights down slightly, shining onto the gleaming liquid below. It didn't look like any kind of internal fluid he knew, but then Primer Charge had never gone poking around Minicons' insides. "Could be a trail left on purpose. They might want us to follow it."

"I pity the guy who has to clean it up, though," said Earthseeder, from the back.

"If you're gonna go so slowly, why don't you get started on the wipe-up?" suggested Diddlysquat in annoyance, quickening his pace slightly to emphasise his point. Primer Charge followed suit, leaving the minelayer struggling to keep up.

"You really like those little guys," observed the engineer as Earthseeder cursed behind them.

"Yeah, I guess." Diddlysquat wasn't in the mood to talk; he was barely holding in panic as it was, though Primer Charge's theory had helped.

The latter probed further. "So if, say, I got killed saving these Minicons…"

"Added bonus," grunted Earthseeder, managing to catch up for a second before dropping behind again. Primer Charge responded by speeding up a little more; after that, the minelayer had no energy for talking.

* * *

Protowisp, meanwhile, was determined never to have anything to do with Autobots again. It was bad enough they couldn't even draw their diagrams properly; being forced to listen to them chattering non-stop was making her CPU hurt. Far better to just shoot them. 

The tour over, she'd been left to show Hot Shot out. She was glad that the Co-Leader was more interested in talking to his Minicon friend than to her, especially since that spared her from at least one half of the conversation. Even if it left her listening to the worse half.

They reached a large hall joining the block to the rest of the base, and Protowisp gratefully took it as her cue to leave. "We're here," she said, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh, right." Hot Shot glanced around, then returned his gaze to the Decepticon. "So if I give you a call later…"

"I'll come and pick him up," agreed Protowisp. "Sure." Anything to get him going. If he'd asked for a return ticket to Malaysia, Protowisp at this point would be dashing to consult an atlas.

"Right." The Autobot nodded and turned to go. "Hey, wait a second…"

"What?" She was experiencing a sinking feeling.

"What's going on over there?" The Co-Leader pointed to a group of people clustered to one side of the room. Jolt took off from his shoulder and went to look. A minute later he flew back, beeping something intelligible only to Hot Shot.

"What'd he say?"

"It's some kind of drinking contest." Hot Shot frowned. "Only…" All three turned to stare at the competition area, Protowisp considering whether to ask for the rest of the sentence. There was a momentary gap in the crowd as someone realised they had business elsewhere and pushed their way out: it was very brief, but enough for the outsiders to see that one of the teams (as well as what looked like the referee) was composed of Minicons.

Hot Shot stared. "Uh… what…" He glanced at the Decepticon beside him.

Protowisp turned to him and said seriously, "We also encourage the Minicons to participate in community activities and forge links with the rest of the base. Through… shared cultural activities."

* * *

It didn't have a mind of its own. That was important. It had no mind, and no spark. It had a personality, of a kind – at least, it had a particular way of thinking, but that wasn't exactly its own, either. 

Its host had no idea it existed, of course: it left little in the way of memories, and those were inaccessible to the host. In any case, they would have been confusing: its perception of the world was vague and lacked understanding.

It understood some things, without knowing why; indeed, it didn't know anything, merely felt and responded on instinct. For the most part, it was unable to access the host's memory, though it _had_ remembered thoughts not long ago…

And _there_ was a problem.

It had no mind of its own, but there was another one at its disposal: through its host's mind, it thought.

There was a vague impression of having been mobile, that once it could have left the host without such hassle. But this was impossible now; it was static. It was still separate, for the time being, at least, but it was running out of time.

It understood, without knowing, that it was running out of time. Its own programming was binding the two beings together. _It_ would survive, after a fashion, but somehow, this was not enough.

A wing twitched weakly as panic rose to spur on single-minded purpose. It had no experience, and it was severely weakened, but that didn't matter.

It had to get away, lest it be trapped with its host. And the outcome of that was precisely what its instincts protested against.

Pain. Confusion. Insanity.

Death.

* * *

…_nor do I own those flaming lyrics. That's what happens when the choir lessons practice in the hall of a very small school where everyone can hear them every day for a few months. The Minicons start singing._

_Just on a further note, I actually wrote out part of a drinking contest scene for this, and later discovered it was on the back of the homework I was handing in. I have no idea what my Physics teacher thought. I didn't ask for crits. (Any offered now, however, are more than welcome. Reviews are fun.)_


End file.
